


Tireless

by Okumen



Category: Fire Emblem Series
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/Okumen
Summary: Navarre's hands were braced against the table surface, fingers spread for better purchase.





	Tireless

**Author's Note:**

> When you want to write fanfics but have only played Heroes, you write pwp, and I have so many ships. (I've started playing one of the games, I think Birthright? Maybe? It's my sister's copy and console, she let me borrow it. Or made me. Maybe a bit of both. I'm so happy there is a wikia I can read over and over.

Navarre's hands were braced against the table surface, fingers spread for better purchase, his chest close to touching, his hair spilling over the wood like rivers of ink. The front of his robe was partially open, displaying skin to the orange glow of the sun, his belts were pulled up, and his trousers were caught by his knees. The evening sun glistened in the sweat beading on his bare skin and gathering at the tips of his hair. He could feel it pool against the collar of his robe by his neck. His chest felt almost cold in comparison, his breath restricted by tight skin.

Hands on his hips had left red welts from fingers gripping too tightly. Bruises were likely to bloom in their place later. But it didn't matter right that moment.

The words he had previously heard behind him had turned into jumbles that he couldn't understand, though they had been difficult before they faded into nothing but noise as well. Legion could be a bit harder to understand even when one's mind wasn't simply a pool of need in one's head. The mask the man still wore only muffled the words further.

Legion’s cock was thick on a whole different level, far thicker than Navarre's own two wrists pressed together. It wasn't all that long, but it was made up for in thickness many times over. And in fervour.

For well near an hour, Legion had tirelessly pounded into Navarre, firm and hard. He had spilled his seed inside of him only once so far, not long ago still. In the same time, Navarre had orgasmed near a dozen times, coming on the edge and on the surface of the table, and eventually coming dry. His hand had slipped in a pool of semen once, smearing it across the smooth table surface.

His cock was just long enough to brush against Navarre's prostate at times, only sometimes pressing hard against it and sending flashes of pleasure through him. By this point, Navarre's legs were shaking, his breath ragged and uneven, his arms shivering and his tongue unable to form even the simplest of words. The stimulation was dizzying.

And still Legion seemed to be nowhere near an end.

He pressed Navarre into the table, and Navarre was vaguely aware that he said something to him, but not _what_. The table surface was cool against his burning forehead. He slipped his hands over the wood to find better positioning, and felt his fingers touch drying cum, then found that he could find no solid purchase because the slightly shifted angle of his body let Legion bury inside him in a new way. A cry, not the first that hour, was torn past his lips and he shook with another orgasm, and another.

Legion's pace was uneven, but firm, hard, relentless. He seemed to refuse to stop making the overwhelming sensations flood Navarre's whole body, seemed intent to drag out every little sound still caught inside him.

And Navarre would let him, because even though he knew he would be both exhausted beyond anything else and in pain disabling him to much move, it felt too good, too much, for him to ever think about wanting it to end.


End file.
